It turned out that the four chefs who'd be preparing each of the courses for the 'Olympians' were expected to do so in the most inappropriate venue that could possibly have been selected. The kitchen was about 200 metres from the fucking dining room, and even Hussain Bolt would have struggled to keep the food warm when serving. How on earth did the creators of this competition come to select a venue that had such a weird layout? Oliver Peyton then pissed about, and we witnessed a staged discussion between him and the manager over where a staging post could be set up. Yes, that's right, the chefs couldn't fucking stay in the cuntin kitchen because it was too far away. Instead, they were in a side room, nearer the dining area, where food was heated and put on plates for an army of waiters and waitresses to carry to tables. The area was cramped and a joke.
Before all of this, though, we had the poor chap who was cooking the main course trying desperately to get going, but having to give up because the fryers were not up to the job. The fat would not reach the right temperature! I could not believe that it was down to him to contact a few mates, and get a couple of properly working fryers dropped off on loan. Cuntin ridiculous!
Meanwhile, the fish market had no mackerel. So, in a bid to wear out the planet just a little bit quicker, a boat was launched in Cornwall to go and catch some, and then a van with temperatue control was driven to London from Cornwall with ten boxes of chilled fish, which arrived just in time. What awful fucking preparation. Nine weeks, then, of pretentiousness and guff to get finalists, and then more work to get down to a final four - just for a fiasco of a tossing banquet. I was impressed that the chefs did so well themselves, and that the guests had a good meal. But this was all despite the organisation being so shit.
As for the commentary during the banquet, it was filled with the usual multiple mention of 'Olympians', 'pushing boundaries, 'scaling heights' and 'ground breaking'. We had "so crucial" and "very heartbroken". There was "not a millisecond to spare" and a load more shite. Oliver Peyton came out with, "It was a beautiful journey on the pallet" just to annoy the fuck out of me and anyone else with more than seven brain cells, and it reaffirmed my view of him - you guess!
As for the beneficiaries of the 9-week marathon, the 'Olympians' were finally revealed. These turned out to be not the people I'd expected. Yes, there were a fair few who were medal winners and associated with past glories. However, after the diners had been exalted to such a massive degree, I was amazed to see so many 'hopefuls' littering the place. As well as famiar names, we had people who are taking part in the London Olympics. That is stretching 'Olympians' rather too much. Turning up to a [articular event for your chosen sport along with 200 others does not really qualify you as an 'Olympian' in my book. No offence to the individual, but one person commenting on the meal afterwards was labelled "2012 Olympics Trampoline Hopeful" and that does not warrant all the fucking fuss for nine weeks and 24 competing chefs, desperate to feed her. There were others labelled 'Hopeful' and in effect, the 100 diners comprised about 50 medal winners.
Glad it's over, that boundaries were apparently broken, ground was broken, heights were scaled, fish were descaled, flora and fauna were foraged, and people were fed. Next time all this effort is made by the BBC using licence payers' money, could some cunt please think ahead and give the finalists a working kitchen that's in the vacinity of the fucking dining room.
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